Prom
by ginmar
Summary: Angel never appeared at prom, but as always Giles was there. One shot. This will not be continued.


"You did very well, Buffy."

Buffy looked up from twirling her parasol to smile at him. She smiled at the toy, then back at him. He noted the quality of that smile sadly: firm but more resigned than convincing. "Angel?"

"We, uh….." She swallowed and grimaced, then produced another firm smile. It differed from the first one; it was weary, almost, as if she wasn't surprised at whatever it was she had come to terms with. "End of the school year, you know, and….end of…stuff."

"Ah." This was followed by an extremely unwise foray into the punch. He poured a glass for each of them, then bravely---if stupidly---led the charge. While Buffy blinked into her glass, Giles tactfully scanned the dance floor, looking for something inappropriate. It would almost have been a relief. After Buffy's surprise honor, the student body, perhaps startled at themselves, had behaved with the sort of decorum he associated with Council meetings. The only hopeful possibility of distraction was provided by Wesley, who danced with Cordelia like a man who'd only recently discovered the existence of the other sex. Students kept backing away carefully, glancing for the nearest exit.

He considered his options. Surprising? Unexpected? Untoward? Unpredictable? Unwarranted? These things might not comfort her, might remind her of her denial. That left out an entire family of adjectives. But avoiding the subject was not her style, either. He sighed deeply.

"Giles," Buffy said tartly. "It's not like he broke up with _you_."

That made him smile. "How dare you dismiss my torment," he said dryly.

"With a lot of skepticism?" Buffy suggested.

"You underestimate me, Buffy."

"In many things, Giles," she said. "And, like---daily. Minutely. Hourly." She grinned at him. "Okay, like---most of the time. But seriously? This time? Come on, with this one, I'm better than Miss Cleo."

"Have you exhausted this opportunity?"

"Yeah, I'm done."

He considered, then decided that honesty was his best policy. "I'm surprised, Buffy," he said. Buffy sniffed a bit and looked down. "No, I truly am."

"At this? Or just in general?"

He smiled a bit again, but it took some effort this time. She had a brittle edge to her, but he was afraid if he acknowledged its existence she'd break entirely. "Ours was a forbidden love," he said firmly, with the air of a man who's been offered something both appalling and unidentifiable on the menu. "I shall spend many nights rereading my diary in the hope that I may uncover some tidbit which indicated he truly cared."

Buffy choked a little bit and grinned. "You sound _so_ sincere."

"I'm shocked, Buffy, that you doubt me. My feelings for Angel were genuine."

"Genuine what?"

"That," he said precisely, removing his glasses, "would require alcohol to discuss. And we have none of that here."

"Don't tell the football team that."

"_Officially." _

"Good save."

"One does try."

On the dance floor, Wesley had officially located his pelvis for the first time, perhaps in his life, with horrifying results. He looked like something was trying to escape from his body via his hipbones.

"I would ask you to dance," Giles said carefully. "But I fear it would destroy any remaining illusions you had about me."

"Oh, I have no illusions about you left," Buffy said. "I had a few left about Angel, though."

"Shall we explore those or--?"

"No, let's not."

"Illusions, then, are to the order of the evening?"

"I think it's a theme, Giles, I really do. In place of whatever that says, on that mural, it should have been pyramids and the Nile."

"The Nile?"

"Denial," Buffy said helpfully. "Sunnydale could export it, maybe. You know----finally do something that works."

"They would have to export you then, Buffy. You've been very successful."

They stood in comfortable silence till the music stopped. Buffy turned to him and held out her hand. He blinked at it. "C'mon, Giles. Give me something to blackmail you with later."

"I get your pardon?"

"Just one dance. At my prom. Look---this is slow, no flailing. Plus," she added shrewdly, "if you dither a little bit more it'll practically be over by the time we get out on the dance floor."

"I did offer, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did."

"Very well then." He took her arm and led her out onto the dance floor. For a moment they looked at one another, then she laid her head on his chest and his throat tightened. This is what it would have been like to have a daughter of his own, a life of his own, instead of this surrogacy that gave him the worst of everything---all the worry, all the doubt, and all of the responsibility, with none of the ability to post pictures and brag, "This is my daughter." Whatever happened, she was the child he never had, the closest he'd ever get.

Maybe it was better this way. Oh, they trained you and they educated you, but they never told you about how the girl would work her way into your heart with all her flaws until you wished you could step into the shoes vacated by a man who was all too eager to forget the child he had. And you could speak of none of that, to anyone, to any person, even to her.

So you watched and you worried, and then you mourned. Finally, you said goodbye to something you'd never been able to acknowledge once. All the victories could not stave off what Watcher school warned was inevitable. Hope was a killer. Buffy had already survived longer than many other Slayers and been much more successful than any two of them, but none of that would save her.

Buffy lifted her head and smiled at him. "We need photographs."

"I refuse to participate in my own eventual blackmail."

Buffy sniffed. "Snyder looks like he's going to have a cow."

"You shouldn't speculate on his love life, Buffy. It's disrespectful."

"I think it's disrespectful to the cow, really."

"My point, exactly."

_My rock, _Buffy thought_. Okay, my irritating, anal-retentive at times, kind of scary at other times, British rock_. Thoughts of her father made her throat ache. He was always busy now. He had been busy before---was it only the marriage that made him tolerate her? Maybe he just pretended his feelings for her.

But Giles----Giles didn't pretend. He was irritated with her, he was annoyed with her, but here he was, dancing with her, even though she could guess he'd happily offer up various limbs if it would guarantee if the event could disappear from Xander's memory--and camera memory.

"You know how thoughts of violent crime cheer me up," she said dryly. Both winced, too late: Faith's presence was everywhere.

"I didn't hear that."

"Do they teach situational deafness in Watcher School?"

"I minored in it."

"Well, I didn't go to Watcher School." Buffy stepped back, her face composed. True to her prediction, the music was driveling to a sappy close, something about loving someone forever and ever. "But I heard mention of ice cream."

"How much ice cream would be required to make you give up your ambitions of blackmailing me?"

"Lots," Buffy said. "Lots and lots and lots."

"Well, given that if we succeed I'm out of a job, and if we fail, I'm out of a job, I do think ice cream is called for."

"That's why you're the brains of this operation."

Giles looked around the dance floor. How odd to think he could have become so fond of a place he'd once so despised. He looked back at Buffy and held out his arm, crooked the way a gentleman would when offering it to a lady. "Shall we?"

"Yes," Buffy said. "We shall."

They headed for the exit, staring seniors parting before them. "I'm still blackmailing you," Buffy threatened.

"I wouldn't doubt it. I'd expect nothing less."

"Only you could make it impossible to tell a compliment from an insult."

"It's my job, Buffy."

"No, it's your _religion." _

"I don't care for the degree of implied criticism in that comment, Buffy."

"Oh, you mean you aren't going to correct my grammar?"

"I have better things to do."

"Such as?"

"Chocolate or strawberry?"

His car was parked quite close and he unlocked her door first, then paused. "Oh, strawberry, duh. How can you even ask that question?"

"I'm English," Giles sighed. "We're born middle-aged."

"Okay, nothing but strawberry for you tonight, Mister." She snapped her seat belt on. "You'll hate me in the morning, but you've got to branch out from vanilla…"

Bickering, they drove off into the night.


End file.
